Summer at Number Twelve
by EowynDernhelm
Summary: He could hardly bear to think of the pair of them having fun at The Burrow when he was stuck in Privet Drive." Companion piece to "Summer at Grimmauld Place", but from Hermione's POV.


            It was a sweltering hot midsummer afternoon in London, and on Grimmauld Place people could be seen sitting in lounge chairs and sipping lemonade at Number 10, turning on the air conditioner and fanning themselves at Number 11, and taking a dip in the pool at Number 13. However, between Numbers 11 and 13 lay a hidden house where no one was relaxing. In fact, every single person in Number 12 was working their fingers to the bone, scouring the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix in every possible way. In a third floor bedroom, two teenage girls were changing the sheets of a moldy old moth-eaten bed. One of them, with flaming red hair that cascaded down her back, was looking rather bored, while the other, who had bushy masses of brown hair, was sweating and diligently performing the tasks that had been set to her. The redhead watched Hermione Granger without much interest.

            "Come on, Hermione," said Ginevra Weasley, plopping down on the newly made bed. "We've been working for hours. Let's take a break."

            Hermione scowled. Mrs. Weasley had specifically asked them to clean this bedroom entirely, or at least to the best of their abilities, and it was barely even half-clean. "Ginny, we've still got loads of work to do. We can't rest now! This room is barley clean at all!"

            Ginny Weasley cast a honeyed brown eye around the room. "Looks clean to me," she shrugged. "Come on, just a small break. And then we can get back to working," she added hastily.

            The bushy-haired girl sighed. "There's no giving up with you, is there?" Ginny shook her mane of red hair proudly. "Fine. But only for a couple of minutes." Hermione sat down on the bed next to Ginny.

"That's more like it," said Ginny doggedly. She tossed her red hair out of her eyes, which suddenly had a mischievous glint in them. "Hey, Hermione," she said slyly. "Have you ever girl-talked before?"

"Have I ever _what_ before?" Girl-talked?! That sounded like one of those late-night giggle fests that Parvati and Lavender had tended to engage in before the Yule Ball.

"Y'know, girl-talked," said Ginny in a teasing manner. "A private little chat between us girls. No secrets kept. You can't have done it with Harry or Ron. You can say anything during a girl-talk. It's only for members of the female gender. Remember that time before my second year—your third—when Mum told us about how she made a Love Potion? That classified as a girl-talk. And no talking about homework, either," she said, before Hermione could say anything about how many essays she had to do. "Just talking about stuff that only girls would understand. So, what d'you say?"

Hermione glared at her redheaded friend. "It sounds like a complete waste of time to me," she said disdainfully. "We should be cleaning this room and making it able to support human life."

"All right, let's compromise," said Ginny stubbornly. "We clean and girl-talk at the same time."

A sigh escaped Hermione's lips.  "I'm not getting out of this one, either, am I?"

"Not a chance." Ginny was grinning broadly. She had propped herself up on her elbows. "Okay, I'll start. I already know who you fancy, so I'll—"

"You WHAT?!" Hermione yelled, turning to face her. "No, you—I don't—how do—you couldn't—who, then?"

Ginny laughed silently. "Try to at least form complete sentences, Hermione."

Hermione was flustered, but she had found her ability to create complex sentences. "If you're so smart, who do I like?"

Ginny's laughter took over her.  "Oh, Hermione, well, isn't it obvious?"

"No," said Hermione in a very small voice. Her cheeks were now crimson.

"Well, then, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

Frantic thoughts were filling Hermione's head. How did Ginny find out? Was she that obvious? No…perhaps Ginny didn't even know, and she was just employing this trick-like tactic to get her to tell her. How could anybody know? She hadn't told her secret to a soul. That must be it—Ginny was pretending to know in order to find out whom Hermione fancied.

"You don't know, Ginevra Molly Weasley, and I'm not going to tell—"

"What boggles me," interrupted Ginny in an overpowering voice, "is what on earth would spur you to fancy my lunkhead of a big brother."

Hermione turned a deeper shade of scarlet than Ginny's hair, lighting her up like a beacon. "H-How do you know?" she asked shakily.

"Oh, please." Ginny laughed. "After that Yule Ball incident last year, it's impossible not to see it. Even Harry knows. But we're getting sidetracked." For a moment, Hermione thought that Ginny was actually going to start cleaning again and end this conversation. "Next question." Hermione groaned inwardly. "How many boys have you ever fancied?"

Ginny's words popped into Hermione's head. 'No secrets kept.' She supposed that the worst was over now, so she took a deep breath. "Two. Devon Smith in grade three, and Gilderoy Lockhart in second year."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "But what about Ron?" She spluttered. "You just told me that…"

Hermione blushed even more. Saying it out loud made it seem more real. "Ron is different. I—I don't think I fancy him, Ginny. I think I love him."

Ginny stared at Hermione, her mouth open and eyes wide, and then let out of great whoop of laughter. "Oh, this is excellent!" She laughed.

"I'm serious, Ginny!" Said Hermione with only a tinge of anger in her voice. She was regaining her composure now. "Both of the other crushes were just that: little girl crushes. I only liked Devon because I wanted to fit in. And I only like Lockhart because he was handsome. I didn't even fancy Viktor, and I only went to the Yule Ball with him because he was nice, and I thought Ron would never ask me, so I wanted to make him jealous and go with his hero. Viktor was never more than a friend.

"But Ron… I don't know or understand how to describe it, but I feel like I need him and I could marry him and I would still be completely happy."

Ginny was still stifling laughter. "So, how does it feel to know that the person you'll be spending the rest of your life with is sleeping right down the hall?" She giggled.

Hermione swatted her playfully. "Don't tease, Ginny. I said I _could_ marry him, not I _will_ marry him. And besides," she said in a sadder tone, "he'll never like me back, and he's too dense to sense my feelings towards him." Ginny looked as though she was about to say something, but Hermione continued.  "But enough about me," she said mischievously. "Who do _you_ like, Ginny?"

Ginny was taken aback and turned red. "I—I—For your information, Hermione Jane Granger, I'm going out with a perfectly lovely boy named Michael Corner!"

Hermione giggled. "Oooh, Ron won't be too happy when he hears about that. SO, you're going out with Michael, but we both know that you still like Harry."

Ginny heaved a sigh. "I gave up on him last year. I don't think he'll ever like me, or see me as anything more than 'Ron's little sister'. And besides, he likes Cho Chang. I wouldn't say that I'm over him just yet, but I've given up on him, definitely."

"So, how did you meet Michael Corner?" Giggled Hermione.

"At the Yule Ball. I was sick of having Neville step on my feet, and he asked me to dance, so I said yes, and we danced most of the dances after that, and then, at the end of the night, he asked if I would like to go to Hogsmeade with him, and I said that yes, it would be perfectly lovely. He's a Ravenclaw an in your year."

"He sounds nice," said Hermione wistfully. "If only Ron could be that perceptive to other people's feelings."

"'Other people' meaning you," said Ginny. "How long have you liked him?"

"I don't know," sighed Hermione. "Since third year, I think. When he stood up to Sirius on his broken leg…that was so brave of him." She sighed again.

"And when are you going to tell him that you're in love with him?" Prompted Ginny.

"I can't!" Hermione jumped off of the bed (she had stopped sweeping the floor ages before). "That's completely out of the question! He'd make fun of me and laugh at me and it would totally ruin our friendship!"

"And how do you know he doesn't like you back?" Asked Ginny with a Dumbledore-ish twinkle in her eye. "You don't understand, Hermione, that I've watched five of my brothers get girlfriends. I know how Weasleys act when they like someone, and Ron is just following the pattern! He's doing the exact same thing as they all did: he's got the red ears and stuttering down pat."

"No, Ginny," said Hermione adamantly.  "There is no chance whatsoever that Ron fancies me. Not a chance."

"And I think that there is a chance," said Ginny.

They glared at each other for several seconds until they heard a sharp tapping noise at the door and Mrs. Weasley's voice. "Dinner, girls."

"We'll discuss this later," muttered Ginny as they exited the room.

After everyone had devoured the roast chicken that Mrs. Weasley had prepared for dinner and had cleared away the apple pie in a split second ("Better than a Vanishing Spell, that," Nymphadora Tonks, a member of the Order, had remarked), Mrs. Weasley stood up and clapped her hands three times to announce the evening's cleaning schedules.

"Ron, you can tidy up your room; it'll be Harry's when he gets here, so make it neat.  Hermione and Ginny—the guest bedroom could use a lot of scouring, how about you start on that.  Fred and George, why don't you clean the library, it's extremely smelly in there, and your father and I can start to tackle the upstairs bathroom.  I don't even want to think what could be lurking in there."

Everyone nodded silently and traipsed up the stairs to the second floor. Just as Hermione and Ginny were about to enter the guest bedroom, Mrs. Weasley pulled them aside.

"Oh, Ginny and Hermione, do be careful in there because I think there might be some Glumbumbles in the dark places, like the closet. If you find something that looks like a wasp's nest in the room, don't be afraid to give me a shout. Okay?"

They both nodded and went to work in the very dirty room. "Urgh," said Ginny, as she looked around at all the grime caking the surfaces of the windows and floorboards. "How could anyone think of living in here?"

Something Mrs. Weasley had said at dinner popped back into Hermione's mind. "Oh, Ginny, you know I'd forgotten that Harry was coming so soon. Won't it be better and easier to stand the cleaning with him here?"

No answer.

"Come on, Ginny, if you ever want Harry to like you, even as a friend, you just have to be yourself and not act like a shy little girl around him. Make him notice the outgoing girl who was put in Gryffindor for a reason, and not the little first year girl he saved in the Chamber of Secrets. Just be yourself."

Ginny was about to reply, perhaps scathingly, but at that moment Ron stuck his head through the doorway.

"Uh, Hermione," he said shakily, with only his head showing. "Do you think you could come in here and give me a hand? It's just that I think there's something breeding in the wardrobe." Ginny started to stand up. "No, I don't need you, Ginny," he said as he saw her. "I just need one assistant." Ginny shot eye-daggers at him, and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat as she stood up. What if he had heard or somehow known what they were girl-talking about before supper?

She composed herself quickly. "Sure," she said, after only a moment's hesitation. "It's probably those Glumbumbles that your mum was talking about, or maybe a Bundimun.  Do you think we should get her?"

"Nah," said Ron. His ears seemed to be reddening by the second and he was fidgeting with his hands. "It's probably nothing serious." His ears blended into his hair, now.

Hermione shrugged at his laxness. "You never know," she said darkly. "There could be a dragon in that closet and you wouldn't know until you were inside of it." _What?!_ She scolded herself mentally. _That didn't make any sense at all! She practically screamed to her inner self. Don't act like so much of an idiot, just because of Ron!_

Ron laughed, a high-pitched, squeaky laugh that didn't sound at all like him, but Hermione ignored it. He was laughing at her idiotic phrase.  She stopped at the wardrobe, got onto her knees, and inspected the nest. It definitely looked like a wasp's nest, and there were little fuzzy grey things flying all around it. She groaned. "They're Glumbumbles all right." She got off of her knees and turned towards him.  "So, what shall we do?"

_Another stupid thing to say,_ she told herself. _Why did that have to sound like it was an invitation to go to Hogsmeade or something?_

Ron was looking at her in a conflicted was, as if it was a hard decision about what to do with the nest.  He took a deep breath and looked at her intently, like he was going to tell her something earth shattering.  _Oh no!_ She panicked. _Was I staring at him?_ She forced herself to remain calm.  "Well?" She said, matter-of-factly. _Good_, she told herself. She hoped that that would sound Hermione-ish enough to throw Ron off-track.

He took another deep breath and looked at her with his deep, sapphire-blue eyes. "I—I'm—"

_Oh no!_ She thought again. _He was onto her! He had overheard them! Confronting her was the only thing that would make him act this mature._ Quickly, she cast around for a change of subject and her eyes landed on the window.

"Oh, look, here's Hedwig!" She exclaimed frantically, in a voice that was tow octaves higher than usual. She felt relieved that he had not faced her about her secret, and she ran over to the windowsill. Her breathing was very rapid. "There's one for you, too, and Sirius.  They all say the same thing.  'I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts.  I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.'"  Dumbledore had already told everyone in Number 12 about Harry's encounter with dementors and the fact that he had a hearing at the Ministry of Magic booked.  "We already said that we couldn't tell him anything!" She exclaimed angrily.  "And we already knew about the dementors, from Dumbledore, and about his hearing and everything.  Here's your copy."  Hermione unstuck their un-sealed, un-enveloped letters and handed Ron the one with his name on it.  It then hit her that her change of subject when Hedwig had arrived might have seemed suspicious and odd.  She gulped and took a deep breath, knowing that she had to say something, and hoping that he might have forgotten what he was going to say.  "What was that you were going to say before Hedwig got here?" She braced herself for the bomb.

However, Ron seemed more interested in his feet. "I—I—I just—I'm going to go get Mum. For the Glumbumbles."

Relief rose like a balloon inside of her. "Okay," she smiled in what she hoped was not a flirtatious manner and walked over to Hedwig as she heard him leave and shut the door. She sighed and looked at the beautiful snowy owl.

"Hedwig, will I ever be able to tell Ron?" She asked the bird in the way one might ask an oracle. Hedwig hooted in encouragement. _One day_, thought Hermione as she absently stroked the owl's feathers. _One day I will tell him. But not now_. 


End file.
